


When There is You and Me

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: “I love you,” John breathes, fingers leaving marks Sherlock wish would never fade. “I love you so much it scares me.”Sherlock shivers, toes curling and head spinning.“You are absolutely everything, all I ever need.”OR stolen moments in John and Sherlock's routine.





	When There is You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> This work has not been betaed.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy those few stolen moments,  
> Pauline.

> **"Moments.**
> 
>   
>  **All gathering towards this one.”**
> 
>  
> 
> **― Jenny Downham,**

 

The sun has not quite risen yet when Sherlock wakes up choking on air, a hand clasped on his chest and the sensation of drowning still too real. He rolls to his side purely based on instinct, breath still coming short and shallow. His hands find John first, sliding up and around his waist until they’re settled against his lower back, secured, safe. Then, his entire body collide softly against John’s, legs and arms and chest fitting into the spaces made for him - and him only. He finds his breath again in the creek of John’s neck, where his skin is warm and just a little sweaty, just enough for the scent to infiltrate Sherlock’s skin and bones. He sighs, low and quiet, the shivers he hadn’t yet noticed coming to a stop. He allows himself a second more before closing back his eyes, the cold, freezing air from his dream fading away with every rise and fall of John’s chest against his own. He lets one finger trace the familiar mark of the scar on John’s back, a out of shape circle acquired after a case in Wales, the memory of a knife that had come too close. He strokes the scar over and over, copying his breathing to John’s, revelling into the marvelling fact that they’re both here, alive and warm and close. He kisses the skin offered to him, silently worshiping the man still asleep in his arms, and with one last ragged breath, follows him.

_____

“Tell me you didn’t forget the gift?”

John is being an idiot, and Sherlock loves him to a point it makes something ache inside his chest. They are already walking up the three stairs to his parent’s front door, snow having transformed the landscape into a white desert, and John is looking at him half alarmed, half resigned.

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replies, actually quite impressed with the fact himself, and leans down to kiss John, quick and smiling.

“Good, good,” John says, looking at the front door and breathing in deeply before raising his hand to the door, not yet knocking.

Sherlock waits patiently. No matter what John might think or what they already discussed, he knows his mother and father are going to fuss over them both without thinking twice about what all that happened.

“I don’t think I can do this,” John finally says, voice barely a whisper. “We shouldn’t have come.”

Sherlock searches for his hand, bringing comfort in the ways he learned over the past few months. He laces their fingers together, waiting until John’s eyes find his. He slowly raises his other hand to cup John’s red, cold cheek, pulling him close enough for another kiss. He lingers there, lips warm despite the freezing air.

“Yes, alright,” John breathes in the limited space between them.

Sherlock smiles, rubbing his nose along John’s just because he can.

“Thank you.”

Three loud knocks echoed in the silence.

______

“And so, without warning, the kid just starts yelling bloody murder in the waiting room. I swear, Jeanny at the desk threw her files in the air, probably thinking he was actually being murdered!”

Sherlock takes another sip of his coffee, crossing both feet under the table. John had been cooking them brunch for the past fifteen minutes, back turned to him, body barely hidden under a too old robe. Sherlock has already come up with four different ways of making him lose the said robe, only two of them involving getting up from his chair. And yet, he remains quiet, watching and listening carefully.

“So of course I came out of my office to see what was happening, leaving poor Mrs Dusty alone, half undressed.”

John chuckles a bit, the sound sending shivers down Sherlock’s spine and making his lips curl into a small smile.

“Two other doctors were already there, trying to catch the kid to calm him but they couldn’t seem to be able to get a grip on him, a fast runner he was for sure.”

John stops just the time to bring the spatula to his mouth, tasting the eggs and hissing out loud. “Oh, hot!” Sherlock shakes his head fondly, wondering when exactly this became his routine, and how lucky he is for this to be his routine in the first place.

“Anyway, we manage to secure the kid, the three of us. Turned out he had swallowed some drugs his parents were making in their flat, the bag must have ruptured inside his stomach while waiting. So yeah, not so funny in the end.”

Sherlock rises from his chair, hating the small shudder in John’s shoulder as he finishes his story. He goes to stand behind him, sliding both arms around his waist and bringing their body close. John relaxes a little, letting his head fall back to his shoulder and sighing. Sherlock turns his head to kiss his neck softly, blowing on the wet patch afterwards. John shivers in his arms, chuckling.

“Stop that.”

Sherlock does it again and again, John’s laughter filling the room.

____

What Sherlock learns to love the most are the small things. John’s kisses and what each of them holds, _good morning, I’ve missed you, look what I’ve found, you’re beautiful, I love you_. The private smiles blooming on John’s lips whenever their eyes meet in public. The hand against his back when they get into a cab. John stepping just a bit closer whenever they’re walking together. Sharing an umbrella on rainy days. Holding hands while watching tv, shopping, walking in the park or falling asleep. John’s panting breath against his lips, his neck, his thighs. The soft and quiet “Ok?” whenever he emerges from his mind palace. John’s feet against his own under the table. Snuggling for warmth. John’s laugh, especially when he can feel it directly against his skin. John’s eyes when he wakes up, John’s eyes when he’s about to fall asleep. John’s hand exploring all of him, John’s mouth exploring all of him. John, John, _John_.

____

Some days, some nights too, they make love as if it was their first time doing so all over again.

Sherlock slides his hand up and down John’s back, covered with sweat, their breath ragged in the quiet room. He holds on to his shoulders, staring up into those burning eyes, and feeling the sweet breaches of John’s thrusts into his body. He spreads his legs wider, loves this wonderful man harder.

He can’t focus, can’t bring himself to discern what is John’s and what it his anymore.

They are a beautiful, messy mix of lambs and breath and heart He doesn’t care, doesn’t want his own body back. John can have it, all of him, every pieces and scars and secrets. Sherlock gave them all up to him a lifetime ago, during quiet evenings spent in their chairs or hours spent running around London. This, right now, their bodies slamming together in a melody Sherlock can never fully understand, this is all that matters.

“I love you,” John breathes, fingers leaving marks Sherlock wish would never fade. “I love you so much it scares me.”

Sherlock shivers, toes curling and head spinning.

“You are absolutely everything, all I ever need.”

 _Stop_ , Sherlock wants to say. John is not allowed to say those things, not now, not when Sherlock is about to explode from all those bubble of warmth spreading throughout his chest. _This is it_ , the thinks, unable to form any words. _This is what it feels like_.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.”

He lets go, abandon his heart and body in John’s hands, trust him with his own fear and overflowing love.

____

“I want a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yes.”

“I want a house in sussex.”

“Now?”

“No. Later?”

“Yes, I want that too.”

“I want to stay in bed all day.”

“No need to convince me on that either.”

“I want to know all of your secrets.”

“Don’t you know them all already?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. I’m afraid there are still parts of you, of your past that I can’t reach.”

“Don’t be afraid. Ask me. I promise to tell you.”

“Alright. Yes. Later?”

“Whenever you need to, love.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“That you don’t need to ask.”

____

Sherlock slides into bed as quietly as he can, John’s sleeping figure barely percible in the dark room. He remains on his side of the bed, knowing the feeling of his still too cold body will only wake John up. He looks at him instead, eyes getting used to the darkness. John’s hair are growing longer and longer, causing him to curse every morning by the mirror and yet, never taking an appointment to cut them. Sherlock doesn’t tell him he prefers him this way. He’s pretty sure John already knows.

“Why are you all the way over there?” John’s voice is raw with sleep, eyes still closed but his lips stretching into a smile. “Come over here.”

“I’m still cold,” Sherlock says, whispering.

“I’ll warm you up,” John says, managing to sound cheeky even half asleep.

Sherlock rolls his eyes but goes quickly, sighing happily when John’s arm close around him. He relaxes a bit more, tangling his legs with John’s and letting his hands find his lower back.

“Did you solve it, then?”

Sherlock closes his eyes, feeling John’s lips leave small kisses on his jaw and chin.

“Almost,” Sherlock replies, smiling lazily. “I’m missing a piece, it’s probably still at the Yard.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” John says, yawing. “First thing.”

“Perfect,” Sherlock whispers.

John’s lips find his own for a chaste, warm kiss. Sherlock feels his own body giving up slowly, warming up with each second ticking by. He can tell the moment John falls back asleep, lips still attached to his jaw. Sherlock snuggle closer.

“I love you,” he whispers, words getting lost in the silent room.

____

It’s like coming home without ever having to have settle anywhere. It’s a long day improving in the last minutes of sunlight. A strange feeling taking up all the space, never trying to get out. A series of beats, silent and unnoticed, spelling out his name. It’s a song coming up on the radio, unknown and yet so very familiar. A quiet murmur in the silent night, comforting in its terror. A burn on your chest, too hot, too painful but necessary. It’s the feeling of new, fresh sheets when falling asleep. The odd sensation of déjà-vu. The realisation it is going to last. It’s a moment, adding to all the ones before, preparing for all the ones to come.

It’s him, soft and warm and smiling.

It’s him.

**Author's Note:**

> The formart of last paragragh might remind you of the fic Master and Hound bye joolabee which inspired me.


End file.
